Close to You
by sweetsheart
Summary: "I am capable of caring, John." John needs someone to care. Sherlock, the high-functioning sociopath, is the only one who is there to do so. Who'll be the biggest obstacle in the end? Sherlock/John.


Dr John Watson stared inanely at the ceiling, feeling his left hand tremble slightly. He looked down at it.

"_Shit... stop it..._" he thought to himself, grabbing his left hand with his right to settle it. Neither the tremor in his hand or his limp had plagued him ever since he met Sherlock.

Sherlock Holmes was both one of John's closest friends and the bane of his existence. John often marvelled at the way the man lead his life. Most people saw Sherlock as a strange soul whom they wanted to stay as far away from as humanly possible. However, John was intrigued by his intellect and demeanour.

But they weren't the thoughts running through the army doctor's head at the moment.

It had been a year. A year since he had been discharged from the Army and sent home.

He'd passed the one-month anniversary and even the six-month anniversary of his mandatory homecoming without any sort of reaction. But this time... a whole year. He kept staring at the ceiling until he heard faint clambering up the stairs.

John glanced over at the door, waiting for Sherlock. Within seconds it opened, his tall, dark and... highly-functioning sociopath of a flatmate walked in.

"John." He acknowledged the man across the room, obviously deep in thought.

"Sherlock." John replied, his head hitting the back of the chair once again as he sighed.

"What's wrong with you?" Sherlock asked, throwing his scarf and jacket on the chair and taking a seat on the armchair across from John. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he stuck another nicotine patch to his arm before closing his eyes and bringing his clasped hands to his chest.

"Nothing." John said, feeling the twitch in his left hand and shoving the offending body part between the armchair and his thigh. Sherlock opened a single eye, glancing over at the position of John's hand.

"What's the matter?" Sherlock asked, nonchalant and distant.

"What?" John glanced over at the concentrating man.

"Your tremor. It's back. Only comes back when something's wrong." Sherlock said, obviously still analysing the case in the back of his head. John sighed.

"A year since I got sent home. A whole bloody year." John said, opening his eyes wide and placing his hands behind his head.

"Mmhm." Sherlock acknowledged. John rolled his eyes at the lack of..._anything_ in his flatmate's voice. He and Sherlock had been slightly tense lately; maybe John was getting sick of Sherlock's lack of emotion. But he left it alone for now.

"It's hard to believe, really. I mean..." John began, before Sherlock jumped to his feet.

"Of _course_." Sherlock said to himself, beginning to walk over to the door. John didn't know what it was; the fact that Sherlock didn't seem to care, or the fact that he was going to leave him alone when he needed someone; _anyone_ to lean on, but something made him call out.

"No." John said, firmly. Sherlock spun around, halfway through tying his scarf around his neck.

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked, his face shocked slightly.

"You're not going out now. It's eleven at night, for God's sake." John said.

"But-" Sherlock began. John got up, exasperatedly, and stood in front of the door.

"You. Are. Not. Going." John said, sternly. Sherlock walked over to the shorter man.

"You are aware that I could probably incapacitate you and walk right out of this door, correct?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes." John said, swallowing.

"An-" Sherlock began.

"But I'm also sound in the mind that you won't." John began.

"What is wrong with you?" Sherlock asked. John clenched his fists.

"I _told _you what was wrong." John said.

"Why don't you want me to leave?" Sherlock asked. John let out a breath and glared at Sherlock.

"Jesus, Sherlock! Don't you ever want to be..._human_?" John asked, walking away from the door and sitting back down on his chair, his head falling into his hands. He looked up at the ever so slightly doe-eyed Sherlock.

"Look, go. See if I care." John said, throwing his head backwards and looking once again at the ceiling. Sherlock sighed, took off his scarf once again and sat back on his chair.

"It's obvious I've done wrong." Sherlock said to the man next to him. John glanced over at him.

"Look, it doesn't matter. You can go if you really want, Sherlock." John sighed, standing up and walking away from him. Sherlock stood quickly, unabashedly placing his hand on John's shoulder. John felt a twinge in his stomach; what the hell was that? John turned around and looked up at Sherlock.

"I can stay." Sherlock said. John sighed, walking back over to the chair he sat in. Sherlock went and sat on the chair opposite, clasping his hands and glancing over at the doctor, who sighed.

"I-I don't know what that was, there." John sighed, chuckling to himself.

"Well, it appeared to be a sudden outburst of-" Sherlock began.

"Rhetorical question, Sherlock." John said. Sherlock nodded, slightly.

"This is going to sound stupid... but I was hoping I could have you to... you know... lean on." John said, his voice slight.

"It's actually quite rational." Sherlock said.

"Yeah? Well, that's a relief." John replied.

"So...would you like to chat?" Sherlock asked, his deep voice softer. John took a deep breath. Sherlock's voice... Jesus. It was like nothing else. John looked up at him, snapping back to reality.

"I-I don't know. I don't think so." John replied, quietly. Sherlock raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Then why don't you want me to leave?" Sherlock asked. John glanced over at him.

"You know, guys like me, who've been discharged, they usually put them on suicide watch at a time like this." John said, sombrely.

"So, you'd like me to make sure you don't _kill yourself_?" Sherlock asked, his brow furrowed.

"No." John said, cocking an eyebrow.

"So... would you like me to get someone else to make sure you don't kill yourself?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock, I'm not going to kill myself. I'm simply stating that's how it can feel. You can feel alone… you can feel like there's nobody that cares," John chuckled to himself, "I suppose it's pointless to explain this to a sociopath, right?"

"_High-functioning._" Sherlock corrected. John smiled.

"How could I possibly forget?" John asked, rolling his eyes.

"I _am_ capable of caring, John." Sherlock said. John flicked over to look at him, an expectant look on the consulting detective's face.

"Really?" John asked.

"Yes." Sherlock said, softly.

"Do you…" John began, before realising what the question he was about to ask would imply and turning away.

"Do I what?" Sherlock asked. John got up from his seat and began to walk to his bedroom.

"Never mind. I'm going to go to bed." John said, walking off. Sherlock frowned, leaping to his feet and following the doctor to his bedroom. He lurked around the doorframe, watching the unaware man until he finally spoke up.

"What were you going to ask?" Sherlock asked in that deep voice. John turned around in shock, his eyes wide.

"Jesus! Sherlock, you ever heard of knocking?" John asked.

"I want to know what you were going to ask." Sherlock asked.

"Oh, I hadn't _noticed_!" John asked, cynically.

"Well, I'm telling you now, I wanted to know." Sherlock said back, obliviously.

"Sherlock, there's no way you can be this bloody clueless!" John yelled at him. Sherlock was taken aback slightly as the doctor stormed over to him.

"John…" Sherlock began.

"I was going to ask if you cared about me, but then I realised that you're Sherlock Holmes and you wouldn't care about someone like me." John trailed off, his eyes filled with some sort of emotion Sherlock was unable to discern.

"That's not true." Sherlock replied. John glanced over at him.

"Oh, yeah?" John asked, slightly apprehensively.

"I do care about you, John." Sherlock said. John nodded.

"Well... we're hardly close, though. You're off gallivanting around the city half the time without me." John said, his temper calming slightly now.

"I don't get close to people." Sherlock said back, definitively.

"Why not?" John asked.

"We've been through this, I don't get close to people." Sherlock said, turning to leave. John walked over to the taller man, putting a hand on his shoulder and forcing him to turn around.

"Go on, Sherlock. It's all well and good for you to tell me that you don't care, but you can't put it off forever." John said. Sherlock turned to him, his eyes piercing.

"Because, John. When I get close to people, _they get hurt._" Sherlock said.

"What do you mean 'they get hurt'?" John asked.

"Example; Chinese circus. Your date nearly got executed, not exactly a gleaming first impression, hey?" Sherlock asked.

"You weren't close to her, though, Sherlock!" John exclaimed, the consulting detective's scrambled logic becoming too hard for him to process calmly.

"Threatening, John!" Sherlock said, walking off.

"What?" John asked, to no response. He walked out of his room and followed Sherlock.

"Threatening?" John asked to Sherlock's face. Sherlock didn't speak.

"Sherlock, don't give me this." John said to Sherlock, who was now sitting on his armchair, his arms folded and his legs crossed. Sherlock turned to him. He sighed, and began talking in a quiet voice.

"She cared about you. You cared about her. That changes to closeness. And if you two got too close, then I'd never get to…" Sherlock trailed off, looking down at his feet.

"'Too close?' Sherlock…" John's eyes widened in realisation.

"Oh, God, Sherlock, I didn't realise…" John said, though the response wasn't all because of the realisation. You see, over the past year, John had developed feelings for his roommate. And not just feelings of friendship or admiration, either. Sherlock looked at him once more.

"And then she nearly _died_. So, like I always do, I put the few feelings I can process into the back of my mind where I hope they'll never pop up again. Well, it looks like my brain has failed me, doesn't it, because here are the damn feelings again." Sherlock huffed, his deep voice laced with emotion. John shook his head. He had no choice to do what he hated doing; he had to bare his soul.

"No." John said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, 'no?' I can't control the way I feel about you. I can stop myself from acting on them overtly, but…" Sherlock began.

"Don't do that." John cut him off.

"Don't do what?" Sherlock asked.

"Don't not act on them." John gulped, laying himself on the line.

"That's a double negative." Sherlock said, standing up to face John. John shook his head.

"Fine, I'll act on them." John said.

"You'll act on my-" Sherlock began.

And the doctor's lips were on the consulting detective's. It was like nothing either of them had ever experienced before; and, no, not just because it was their first kiss with the same sex. There were so many questions that lingered in the air that were answered by the simple connecting of lips and swapping of saliva. Sherlock brought his hand up to the side of John's face as John took a handful of Sherlock's scarf in his fist. Suddenly all of the extended glances, the accidental personal confessions and the closeness made sense. And all of the beliefs the two men held still held true. John had always said that two men living together didn't have to be romantically involved; well, that was still true, just not for Sherlock and John. Sherlock had always said he was married to his work; well, if there was anyone that was a human personification of his work, it'd be Dr John Watson.

John pulled away from the kiss first, starving for breath. He shook his head and smiled as Sherlock stood back, staggered. He didn't quite know what to do with himself, he didn't know where to look, where to put his hands, whether or not it was impolite to ask for another kiss.

"John… I-uh…oh…" Sherlock stuttered.

"Well, well. Rendering Sherlock Holmes speechless. Must be a first." John said, only slightly more confident than his partner.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, insistently.

"I'm probably also the first man to ever kiss you, put it that way." John said, chuckling slightly.

"Person. But yes also." Sherlock replied, playing with the bottom of his scarf, still not able to form completely coherent sentences. John chuckled and looked back at Sherlock.

"Well, let me put it simply. If I have to risk getting hurt to be close to you, then that's a risk I'm more than willing to take." John said, placing a hand on Sherlock's arm. Sherlock smirked slightly, his head tilted down, looking at John through brown tresses.

"Ordinary people don't want to be close to me." Sherlock sighed. John pulled his chin up, allowing him to look into the man's eyes.

"Well, I'm not ordinary, am I?" John asked.

"What?" Sherlock asked. Apart from the fallout of war, John was fairly ordinary. Ordinary as in usual, not ordinary as in boring.

"Well, I don't mean to brag, but, I was Sherlock Holmes' first kiss. I reckon I can put that on my CV." John shrugged. Sherlock couldn't help but smile, and having regained his confidence, asked a rather overt question. Catching John's gaze once more, he let the few feelings he possessed envelop his entire being. He gave John a rather innocent look as the next words flew out of his mouth in the usual debonair fashion.

"How would you like to be Sherlock Holmes' second kiss?"

**A/N: So, how'd you like it? I did like writing this. I know the idea has been used before, but I figure it's a good point to start at, seeing as this was my first Sherlock fic. And, judging by how fun that was to write, it shouldn't be the last :)**


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